Unwarrented Punishment
by Tetsuhiro Morinaga
Summary: CAUTION: CONTAINS YAOI. If you don't like gay stuff, stop now. I set this story a few years into Gil (Prussia) and Ivan (Russia)'s relationship and have a few other stories pertaining to them; though this was the first. Its rather long, and i am not sure if i even like the beginning, but i think it gets good a few chapters in. Rated M for major abuse and gore in the beginning
1. Chapter 1

Prussia's Captivity

Ivan (Russia) and Gilbert (Prussia)

I

Gil

Gil lay on the spacious bed in Russia's room, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. '_Why go anywhere else?' _He asked himself glumly,_ 'This seems to be the only place that damn Russia ever wants me' _Gil sighed as his thoughts wondered. How long had he really been here? It was surprising how a few years could feel like an eternity. At least he was better off now than he was in the beginning…at least there were no more chains; no more starvation and beatings. After he had been broken, Russia had lost the need for them; Gil still tried to fight, of course, but only as much as would satisfy his pride, for the ending was never to change. Russia would get what he wanted; threats and force served the bastard well. Although, Gil had to admit, his owner had been mellowing out lately. The creepy smile below evil eyes still petrified Gil when they were directed at him, but Russia did not seem as aggressive to his helpless pet anymore. He even began conversing with Gil as he would a normal person instead of simply walking into the room, taking what he wanted, and leaving without another word; like he used to. Gil shivered to remember those dark, first months, but did not suffer them long, for a figure walking through the doorway pulled him out of his torturous past and back into the present. Gil looked over long enough to see that it was Russia, then closed his eyes and laid his head back on the pillow. With a tone that desperately tried to hide his fear, the young man stated in the angry-sounding voice that was his norm,

"What do you want, Russia? Should I get out, or are you here 'cause you want to fu-Oof! What the hell, man?!" Without warning or provocation, Russia had marched across the room and attacked Gil, throwing a kneecap into the unsuspecting man's chest, pinning him to the bed. Gil struggled with all his might against his assailant, but, like every time before, he was no match against the bigger country.

"Russia, you prick! Get the hell off of me! What do you-UUH!" Just like those first days in this freezing hell, Russia had slammed a fist into Gil's face to shut him up and he felt his lip split open as his head was thrown forcefully to the side. The familiar pain was shocking to Gil, and he looked up at Russia with astonished eyes, expecting to find that same creepily-innocent smile on that loathsome face. What he saw instead was more terrifying to Gil than any expression his governing country had made before. Where there had always been a smile; there was now a taunt line, stressed and angry. His eyes, usually full of a sarcastic deviance and malice, were now clouded, the feeling behind them unreadable; though Gil knew that the emotion must be a huge monster lurking just below the surface. Gil's eyes widened even more as he realized what Russia was doing. While he had been distracted by the pain of the punch, large hands had encased his wrists and hauled them above Gil's head. Russia was now busying himself with the restraints that were kept tied to the headboard; though he had not used them for quite some time. The memories the thick Velcro straps unearthed in Gil's mind sent him into a frenzy of kicking and bucking, throwing his head back and forth as he struggled. The fear could now be heard very clearly in his tone.

"Russia! Russia; stop! Y-You don't need those anymore….DON'T! Ivan, p-please!" At the sound of his personal name, Russia's eyes snapped from where his hands were working on tightening the straps, and he stared into Gil's face. The emotionless mask vanished for an instant, and what Gil saw there was extreme anger, along with an underlying hurt. As Gil looked frantically into those sorrowful eyes, searching for any kind of sympathy or kindness, Russia replaced his emotional wall, sending his features into a mask void of feeling once more. Finishing with Gil's bonds, he bent over the terrified country, their faces mere inches apart. Almost inaudibly, even from their close proximity, he whispered,

"They're gone, Prussia, every last one of them. But you can't leave, of that I will make sure." _''Every last one of them?' He can't mean all the people that were living in his house, there were so many of them.' _Gil's mind raced, and he figured that if he got Russia talking, then maybe he could stall his unwarranted punishment; or perhaps even calm Russia down enough to keep himself from harm altogether. Gil fought against the pressure Russia was inducing on his lungs and forced himself into speech.

"Wait, Russia. The Baltics? Belarus? *wheeze* Who is 'everyone'?" These strangled questions, however, Russia ignored, sitting up once again to tower over his cornered captive. Hoisting himself off of Gil's chest, Russia backed down the bed so he sat at the other country's feet. Reaching up, he took hold of Gil's boxers and yanked without mercy, despite the protests directed at him from the head of the bed, until Gil was left only in his button-up long-sleeved shirt. Russia then positioned himself at Gil's entrance without another word, spreading Gil's legs as far as they would go; the look on his face making it clear that he was not going to be gentle. Gil panicked, realizing that Russia had no intention of loosening him up or putting anything on to make insertion more smooth; the pain, he knew was going to be unbearable. He immediately began fighting even harder against the thick, nylon straps binding him to the bed; looking up he noticed they were caked with dried blood from his past encounters with them, and thought grimly that he was bound to cover them with a fresh coat before this excursion was over. The pain running down his arms along with the suspense of the unnecessarily large organ caused Gil to cry out in one last attempt to assuage his ruler's temper.

"You can't just come in like that! You're gonna tear something, Russia! Please, you-you can't do thi-" Gil was cut off by an earsplitting scream that echoed around the room, and only after a few seconds of scrambled confusion did he realize that the agonized wail had been of his own making.


	2. Chapter 2

The pain of that first, strong thrust ran through Gil's entire body, causing him to writhe under Russia's relentless hold. He tried in vain to stifle the screams and sobs that accompanied each of Russia's movements, but each time an agonized grunting sound escaped through Gil's clenched teeth. After a few minutes of excruciating pain lacing through Gil's limbs, Russia stopped, leaving the bottom country gasping for air while he could get a break. Between pants, Gil was calling Russia every name in the book, starting with "asshole" and ending with "commie bastard" where he was interrupted with two words uttered in a voice void of any feeling.

"Flip over." And with that, Russia's hands moved from Gil's hips to his legs, lifting one over while the other was pulled under; forcing Gil to rotate with Russia still inside him to lie on his stomach. Gil couldn't stifle the scream that issued from his lips as he was made to move against that intrusive appendage, and he quickly rose himself to his elbows, thrown slightly off-balance by his bound wrists. It seemed that from this position Russia could reach even deeper into Gil, for through the pain, he could scarcely feel Russia hitting his G-spot, sending threads of pleasure, which were quickly consumed by the much stronger pain, shooting through his body. Gil's groans became more labored as his own member twitched to life against his will. The worst part of what Russia did to him had to be the unwanted pangs of arousal that overrode Gil's senses. He did not want to feel any sort of pleasure from these acts, and hated it when Russia would comment on it; saying that Gil's reaction was all the evidence he needed to convince him that Gil enjoyed the acts forced upon him as well. It was, in fact, the farthest thing from the truth; it added to Gil's shame, making it even harder for him to look in a mirror without seeing a spineless weakling unable even to control himself. But Russia seemed too preoccupied at the moment to notice Gil's hard-on, as he was using all concentration and power to pound into the ass in front of him. Fueled by embarrassment and the ever-present agony, Gil's grunting pants began to form words.

"Nnh!...Prick…Bastar-AH!...St-STOP!...You fucking sicko-nuh!" Gil felt Russia bend over him, lips brushing against his shoulder blade. Russia stopped thrusting for a moment, so he could whisper softly into Gil's skin,

"Shut up, Prussia." Gil winced as the lips were replaced by sharp enamel, and a second pain joined the first as Russia bit down, breaking the skin on Gil's shoulder. All that could escape Gil's throat now was unintelligible wails as Russia's teeth drove themselves deeper into his flesh and he began his thrusts once more. Pulling his teeth out of the deep valleys they had created, Russia then began pushing his tongue into the wound, lapping up blood and receiving more cursing from Gil. During all this torture he noticed blood from his busted lip running down his chin and dripping onto the pillow beneath him; and, attempting to assess his injuries, Gil looked through eyes clouded with misery at the places that pained him. Looking up, he noticed that he had been correct on his assumption about his wrists. The thick straps were digging slowly into the flesh just below Gil's hands, coating the black nylon in a new layer of his blood; the white sheets stained with the red liquid fleeing his body. Next Gil tilted his head to look at the now abandoned shoulder wound; Russia had gone back to focusing all his attention where it mattered most to him. Gil could not quite see the mark itself, but saw rivulets of crimson running down his arm and side, dripping onto the bed in small puddles. Lastly, Gil glanced down along his stomach at what Russia was doing to him; the sight that met his gaze making him flinch in shock and horror. Blood was pouring down his thighs in gushing rivers, the bedclothes a sea of spreading red. Gil had never seen such an amount of blood come from anybody, let alone himself. '_Oh, God, he's going to kill me…' _That was Gil's last thought as everything went black and he passed out.


	3. Chapter 3

He must not have been out long, for when Gil regained consciousness, Russia was still having his way with him; although it seemed he was nearing the end. What had woken Gil was his own climax, but he barely noticed it through the torturous pain he was feeling just about everywhere. Apparently he had tightened up like he usually did when he came, though, for Russia was not far behind him. With a few more frantic thrusts, Russia was thrown over the edge, repeating Gil's name over and over under his breathe.

"Prussia…Prussia…oh, Prussia tak Tyro…Prussia…" Being spent at this point, Russia finally removed the source of Gil's pain from his body, sitting back and taking deep breaths. As he himself collapsed, Gil twisted so he landed on his back once more; a hiss of pain running through his lips as his shoulder hit the mattress. Through gasps, he continued his string of curses directed at the man sitting at his feet, German and English running together as he combined the two languages' profanities. Although, looking down the bed at him, Gil noticed Russia's face had changed. He was looking Gil up and down, eyes lingering on the pools of blood, a shocked expression on his face.

Ivan

Ivan looked out at the terrible thing he had done through a haze of hurt and anguish. Everyone had left him after he no longer had the power to force them to stay, even his sisters. Had no one been living in his home in comfort? Did they all hate and fear him so much as to run away, never to even look back? Ivan mentally slapped himself for what he had done next. In all of his hurt and anger at everyone else, he had taken it out on this defenseless former-country; whom he had been trying so hard over the past few months to convince into accepting and even liking his place here. Looking down at Prussia's beaten body, rivers of blood pouring out of the menagerie of wounds that covered his skin, Ivan feared that the last few months of building friendship was now wasted; ruined by his own hateful temper. Ivan felt his mask slip off his face as sorrow consumed him, and he averted his gaze from Prussia, who was cursing him softly between painful breathes. '_He has every right to curse me straight into the deepest recesses of Hell' _Ivan thought as he got up from the bed.

Gil

Gil had stopped cursing, using all of his remaining energy to pull fresh air into his exhausted chest, and looked up hazily as Russia got up from the bed. Gil watched as he pulled up and fastened his pants and, without another word or backwards glance, strolled casually out the door. Desperation kicked in, and Gil found himself screaming once again.

"NEIN, YOU COMMIE BASTARD! GET YOUR SORRY ASS BACK HERE! UNTIE ME, YOU PRICK! RUSSIA, PLEASE! SOMEBODY, HELP! PLEASE HELP ME! ANYBODY! Someone…help…" Gil's screams lessened to barely a whisper as the hour or so of extensive use took a toll on his voice. All but incapable of speech now, Gil broke down into racking sobs, the pain and isolation working together to utterly obliterate his will. '_Of course no one will be able to help me; this accursed place is a hundred miles away from anyone who would hear my screams. Besides, the only one who even cares about me at all is West, and he's too busy dealing with the Allies right now to worry about my troubles.' _A mental image of Germany entered Gil's rattled brain at this thought and he clung to the memory of his little brother, his sobs intensifying at the image. After a little while of crying to a silent room, Gil's breathing became even more labored than it already was, from the efforts of his sobbing or from blood loss he could not be sure; and a deep exhaustion started to pull at Gil's limbs and eyelids, unconsciousness trying to drag him under. He was not sure if he was dying or simply passing out again, but Gil welcomed the darkness; hoping his pain would be lost there. But before he could immerse completely into the sea of his subconscious, noise roused Gil to awareness once more. Russia had entered the room again and now stood looming over him, his face in shadow. Thoroughly terrified of him at this point, Gil gazed up at Russia through heavily-lidded eyes, his body beginning to shake with fear and a new series of sobs.

"Bitte, Ivan…n-no more…I…I can't…Ivan, bi…bitte." Using Russia's human name was something Gil rarely did. Russia was constantly telling Gil, when forcing him to sleep with him, to say it when he came; but Gil made a point never to do so. Using it now signified that he had reached his breaking point and was basically begging; his once-strong pride nowhere to be found. A hand extended towards Gil and he flinched away, turning his head to the side and tucking in his chin; his eyes slammed shut to the impending violence. But instead of the expected blow, Gil instead felt Russia fumbling with his wrists; freeing them of the bloodied Velcro. As soon as he had reclaimed his arms, Gil attempted to sit up and scurry away from Russia all at the same time; but with a cry of alarm and pain, he went careening back onto the pillows, his battered body unable to support itself. He lay there, panting heavily, wondering what this irrational man was going to do next. To his surprise, Russia did the exact opposite of anything Gil thought him capable of.

One arm curling around his back, the other winding under his legs, Russia gently lifted Gil into his arms. Gil tried to protest, but his voice had completely deserted him at last, making his words a silent moving of his mouth and a low choking noise. Unable even to lift his head, Gil surrendered and allowed himself to relax into Russia, his face leaning on the cloth of the scarf the other country always wore; his tears soaking into the thick fabric. Looking up at Russia's face, Gil saw on it an expression he had never seen before. Russia was looking down at him with a deep regret etched into his features, making the bigger country look young and vulnerable. _'Of all the times he's hurt me, I've never seen him regret any of it…although I must say, this is a lot worse than even those past times…' _Gil noticed blood running out of him and onto Russia's clothing and wondered how long it would take for a country's embodiment to bleed to death. Longer than a normal human, to be sure, but he had to be getting close. Gil's dark thought process was interrupted by the feeling of Russia's lips on his forehead, and he felt warm breath on his clammy skin as the man holding him whispered,

"Come, Gilbert." And without any other explanation, Russia walked, Gil hugged to him snugly, across the room and out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Gil was utterly confused as Russia carried him through the house. His captor had never done anything resembling this before, and he had no idea what to think of it. Gil briefly panicked at the thought of being carried through Russia's house wearing nothing but his now ruffled and bloodstained shirt, most of the buttons torn off and the collar around his elbows. Then he remembered what Russia had said '_They're gone, Prussia, every last one of them.'_ Could that really be true? But as Gil looked around the house he was being carried through, glancing into some of the open doorways as they passed them, he realized that Russia had not been lying. Every bedroom he could see into was void of any clothing or personal effects; even the quarters of the more messy countries were spotless and empty. Pondering the implications of a deserted house in which Russia was to be his only company, Gil barely noticed when they entered a room and Russia stopped moving. Gil, snapping out of his disturbing thoughts and took in the sight; white tiled walls and clean appliances, spotless counters and the scent of vanilla. It seemed they were in the girl's bathroom, and Gil had to admit it was a great deal cleaner than the communal boy's restroom; with its constant odor and mildewed shower. Looking down, Gil noticed that the spacious Jacuzzi-sized bathtub was filled with steaming, slightly lime-green tinted water. His first thought was of the gruesome things Russia could do to him with a tub full of liquid, and he tried in vain to get his limbs to move so he could struggle against the masochistic man holding him.

"Oh God, you're gonna drown me?! What did I do, Russia?! Why are you treating me this way?!" Images of Russia holding his head under the water, letting him up for a few gasping breathes, then forcing him under the surface once more, sent jolts of fear through Gil. Meeting Russia's gaze, however, forced Gil to doubt the conclusion he had made about the intentions for the tub; for the deep look of saddened regret still clung to his eyes, his lips still void of their usual smile. Gil always knew that if Russia ever did decide to kill him, he would do it with that creepy-ass grin spreading across his face.

Russia carried Gil the rest of the way to the tub and sat him down on the side. Gil winced as his backside hit the cold, white plaster, both from the decreased temperature and the pain the contact sent up his spine. He shuffled his weight from one side to the other, trying to find a comfortable perch while Russia busied himself with undoing the few remaining buttons on Gil's shirt, gently removing the garment from his beaten body. Gil noticed for the first time, looking down at himself, that his hips and sides were sporting deep purple bruises, some distinctly in the shape of Russia's hands and fingers. Gil put his own hand over the imprint of Russia's, gaping at the difference in size; barely noticing the deep lacerations cut into his wrists that were still sending blood dripping off his fingers. Russia, noticing Gil's movement, looked down at the ground in what appeared to be shame, and lifted Gil once more; lowering him slowly into the hot water. Gil felt his straining muscles relax slightly as the water covered his wounds; and in the calm silence that followed, he studied its strange hue. It held a slight tint of light green, but did not look like mold or anything unsanitary; more like something had been added to it. Gil then noticed a faint medicinal smell wafting from the surface and looked up at Russia, a question on his lips. Seeming to read his thoughts, Russia answered Gil's question before he could voice it.

"I added an aloe Vera complex to the bathwater, I keep it in case of major injuries; it is supposed to help with the healing and the pain." Feeling the aloe begin to do its work, the ache slowly leaving his body, Gil looked up at Russia with surprised eyes. In all the times he had violated and hurt him, Russia had never, not once, helped him treat his injuries. The most he seemed capable of was restraining himself for a few days so the wounds could heal, forcing Gil to give blowjobs instead of the alternative; and that was if Gil was lucky and Russia was in a merciful mood. This complete one-eighty in attitude was making Gil's head spin in confusion, but the water had a calming effect, and he decided he could worry about it later; sinking down deeper into the soothing liquid. After a few minutes, Gil looked at the water once more, smelling copper along with the aloe and his eyes widened as he saw the water slowly tint red with his blood. '_Holy shit! I'm __still__ bleeding?! Russia must have torn something real bad.' _Russia, who had been watching Gil's relaxed face up to this point, noticed his sudden alarm and reassured him softly

"Don't worry, Prussia, the medicine stops the bleeding as well. You'll be fine; you're a tough country." As Gil glanced at Russia's face, he could not help but think that Russia was saying that more to make himself feel better than to ease Gil's own worries. Deciding that acting more like himself might put Russia at ease – lord knows it would make Gil feel better if Russia could do the same – he managed an angry-looking face and curtly stated.

"Alright, great, like I'm worried about my awesome self. Get out, would ya, it's weird with you looming over me like that." Looking sideways at Russia, Gil noticed that his usual banter had managed to make Russia grin. But it was a poor ghost of his usual demonically-innocent smile; clouded with misery and woe. Gil focused his attention on the water and averted his gaze from the depressed country beside him. His eyes snapped back, however, when he felt fabric on his face. Gil's hands instinctively went flying up, slapping Russia's hand away; cold fear lacing through him once more at the unexpected touch. Russia backed his hand away at Gil's struggle, a damp washcloth held between his fingers. Their eyes locked, and Gil calmed a little at the docile expression on Russia's face.

"I was just trying to wash the blood away from your lip, Prussia. I would actually like clean all of you since I seem to have made you incapable of moving much." Gil's protest died in his throat as he noticed his body convulse and shake in exhaustion at just the simple act of raising his arms. They had already slipped back into the water, and he collapsed against the wall of the tub, breathing heavily.

"Fine." Was Gil's only statement to Russia's request, and, with a deep sigh, he closed his eyes, blushing slightly.

Lifting one arm carefully out of the water, scrubbing off the sweat and gore, and then doing the same with the other, Russia began cleaning his body; using a tenderness and control that Gil had never felt from him before. Perhaps the careful slowness was for his own sake; any even slightly jerky movement made Gil flinch involuntarily, his body instinctively expecting more pain.

"Flip onto your stomach." Russia demanded, though not with his usual certainty and arrogance, once he had finished washing Gil's legs and torso. With a pained moan and much assistance from Russia, Gil managed to roll over in the large bathtub, barely able to keep his face from submerging in the water. The washcloth ran slowly over his back, feeling quite relaxing; until it moved to his shoulders and the bite mark that resided on one of them. Gil winced and twitched as the cloth ran over the swollen and reddened wound; the tip of his nose touching the surface of the bathwater as he began to shake again, from the memories of what had brought the mark to his flesh or from the pain that still resonated from it, he could not be sure. Gil looked over his shoulder as he felt Russia lean over and kiss the sore skin. He was about to tell the bastard to stop - he had done quite enough damage to that spot already – but stopped mid-syllable as he heard Russia mutter something, his breathe blowing warm air over the bite.

"What did you say, Russia? How do you expect me to hear you if you mumble like that? Speak up." But all the ire fell out of Gil as Russia's face moved into his frame of vision; the tears welling in the stronger country's eyes effectively killing Gil's anger. Russia repeated himself in a sad-but-steady voice.

"N3BNHNTe, Gilbert."(writer's note: this jumble of letters and numbers is what comes up if "sorry" is typed into an online English to Russian translator…not at all sure of its accuracy) Gil stared, wide-eyed, at Russia for a moment. He had picked up enough of the Russian language to recognize the odd-sounding word as an apology, but having absolutely no idea how to respond to it. Using his usual mental-defense technique, Gil then attempted to sound angry and nonchalant once more; though not nearly as convincingly as before.

"Why the Hell are you apologizing, you prick?" He demanded with a slight blush. "You've never been sorry before…What made you revert back to beating me again, anyway? I thought we were past that…" Gil looked down into the depths of the bathtub to hide his embarrassment at voicing anything close to his feelings; regretting at once the sad expression he had allowed to encompass his features while he had spoken. Russia hovered silently over him for a while; Gil could not be sure what he was thinking. Finally, he spoke.

"I was past all of that. You have become much more than just a toy to me now, Gilbert." Gil was not sure if he should feel angry at being called a toy or…..well, whatever it was he was feeling right now. It was all very confusing, and the unknown emotion kept running circles around his brain, making it impossible for him to catch it to examine it closer. Gil decided on silence as Russia continued. "But then everyone betrayed me," A shadow fell across his face, and as Gil watched the transformation from sad, lonely Russia to pissed-the-fuck-off Russia, he began to feel fear slide through his veins once more. "And I ended up taking out all of the anger I felt at them on the one person I could still control; you." The anger in Russia's face calmed somewhat; sadness residing in it once again. "I am repulsed by the harm I inflicted on you and…and I cannot even begin to tell you how sorry I am." At the last few words, a single tear escaped Russia's eye, running down his cheek and falling into the bathwater with a soft *plop*. Gil knew in the silence that followed that Russia was expecting him to say something, but he could not give the crying country the forgiveness he so longed for. Not yet, anyway; Gil had no idea how he was feeling or what was running through his own skull. He needed time to think and sort out all of the shit jumbling in his brain. After a moment washed in an eerie stillness, Russia returned to his work without another word. After finishing with Gil's backside – bringing tears of pain to Gil's eyes as he cleaned the part of his anatomy that was the most sore and swollen – Russia helped Gil out of the tub, sitting him on the side once again. Reaching over to the fluffy white towel on the counter, Russia then commenced to dabbing Gil dry; he tried to refuse, saying he could do it himself, but after his arms gave out from exhaustion, he was forced to give the towel back to Russia, sighing with frustration. '_This is all that bastard's fault.' _But even as he thought this, Gil noticed that he felt little to no real anger at Russia. Had he gone insane? Was this an example of Stockholm syndrome? '_If you sleep with someone for long enough, even if it is against your will, I guess feelings are bound to develop….'_ Gil had no idea what kind of insanity had possessed him; all he knew was that he needed to snap out of it and start hating Russia again, like he should. But no matter how hard he tried, Gil could not bring himself to loathe Russia in the way he had in the earlier months of his time here. He had felt the anger and disgust dwindling over the past year, but did not wish for it to vanish completely. During all of this mental sparring, Gil had been staring unseeingly at the other side of the bathtub. Suddenly halting his work, Russia's eyes widened slightly as if he had just remembered something, and he looked up from drying Gil's feet to look into his eyes.

"A package came to you in the mail today; I forgot to tell you in all of the…commotion with the other countries I had to deal with this morning."


	5. Chapter 5

Gil looked expectantly at Russia, waiting for more information; but he simply began helping Gil into a crisp new button up shirt, oblivious to the frantic state of mind in which he had left the other country. Gil had not gotten a single piece of mail in all the time he had lived in Russia's house.

"….WELL?! You gonna tell me who it's from or what?"

"Germany."

"…West?..." Gil could not believe it. His brother had finally contacted him; he felt the joy bubbling under the surface and could not help the wide grin that spread across his face. Russia noticed his excitement, but it only seemed to lower his own spirits for his frown deepened and he focused a little too intently on fastening the last of the buttons. Slipping into a new pair of boxers, Gil tried to get up, but went careening towards the ground, landing in Russia's arms as he stooped down to catch him. Smiling through the pain, Gil looked up at Russia and spoke frantically,

"Please, Russia, will you bring it to me?"

"…Yes. One moment." Russia said with a sigh and, lowering Gil gently to the spotless tile floor of the bathroom, he then made his way swiftly out of the room. The seconds passed like hours as Gil sat, tapping a rhythm into the tile underneath him with his fingernails, waiting impatiently for Russia's return. Finally he passed through the door once again, a medium-sized package in his grasp. Sitting down on the floor next to Gil, Russia placed the box in its owner's lap, then sat back against the wall; watching Gil's face intently. Everything around Gil faded away as he focused on the communication he had been longing for for so long. A yellowish envelope rested under the string that tied the brown paper to the package, and Gil quickly grasped it; opening the flap as fast as his shaking hands would allow. Seeing Germany's handwriting sent a thrill of joy through Gil, and he read the letter earnestly.

Gil,

I hope you are well, brother, and I apologize for not writing sooner. The Allies have been keeping quite a strong hold on me lately, and this is the first communication they have allowed me since we were conquered. Surprisingly, they are helping me and my people recover from the devastation of the war, I should be back to full strength in no time.

Is Russia treating you well? (If I do not receive a response, I'll take the answer as a "no") I miss you and dearly hope you are not being abused or neglected; Russia is a creepy bastard and I don't know what he's capable of. I have been speaking with America about getting you back home and he seems pretty adamant about making Russia give you back. I hope to see you again in the next few months, if Russia doesn't put up a fight for you, that is. In the included box, I've prepared something from home.

With love,

Ludwig

Gil stared at the letter for a very long time, reading it over and over, trying to get the information to sink in. '_He's fighting to get me back…' _The happiness was threatening to erupt out of him at any moment, but Gil fought it down and turned to the box in his lap. Tearing the brown covering off, Gil ripped into the cardboard, revealing the box's contents. The familiar smell of dried meat wafted up to Gil, making his mouth water. The small sausage links were coiled in the box like a snake. A delicious smelling snake.

"...Wurst…" Gil stared at his favorite childhood snack, memories of him and West eating them together in the large meadow outside their house flashing through his mind. '_Home…' _but then an image of that damn Russia pushed its way into Gil's thoughts. '_I'll finally be getting away from him. That is what I want, right?'_ But another emotion was twisting around Gil's happiness, slowly constricting and killing it. Suddenly Gil noticed a drop of liquid land on one of the links, and realized it had come from himself. Tears unexpectedly began pouring down Gil's face in unstoppable torrents; almost as if a dam in Gil had burst. '_What the….why the hell am I crying?! I don't feel like crying!'_

Ivan

Ivan had been watching Prussia all this time, seeing his emotions dance over his face as each surprise made him happier. America had already come to Ivan about getting Germany's big brother back "to the house he belongs in" and Ivan had told him he would think about it. Thinking back, all of the other countries leaving was not the only reason Ivan had snapped. Knowing Prussia was about to have the opportunity to leave, and knowing he would be as happy about it as he was now, had infuriated Ivan; but he felt none of that now, only the worst sadness he has ever had to endure in his life. '_Once my Gilbert leaves, I will be completely alone…' _Looking up once again to study Prussia's face, Ivan was surprised to find a sniveling, sobbing mess staring back at him.

"Prussia, why are you crying?" Ivan said in alarm, leaning towards the sobbing, shaking body in front of him. Prussia's face looked angry and confused, and he shook his head, shouting his answer.

"I have no fucking idea! Why the hell am I crying?! I should be exited, my brother just told me I can go back home in a little while, so what the hell is up with the goddamn tears?!" An enormous hiccup interrupted his last sentence, adding to Prussia's angry confusion.

"WHY AM I SAD?! WHY DO I FEEL SO TORN ABOUT THIS?!" Ivan's heart skipped a beat at these screamed words. _'He's sad and torn about leaving me?'_

"It must just be the shock," Prussia stated through the racking sobs, shrugging his shoulders and trying to act nonchalant about his own breakdown. "My emotions are all jumbled and confused." Prussia said with a shake of his head. "I'm finally getting out of this freezing hell-hole." Prussia tried to smile with this statement, but could muster no happiness into his expression. Ivan's own joy grew. Before he could stop himself, Ivan grabbed Prussia, pulling him in for a hug; burying his face in his neck and smelling Prussia's sent – underneath the smell of soap – for what may be one of the last times. He felt hands on his chest, pushing slightly at first, but after a few seconds, clinging to Ivan just as desperately as he was. Prussia whispered; his voice close to Ivan's ear.

"Why in the world don't I wanna leave? Am I retarded?" At this, Ivan held him tighter.

"Ow, you prick. You're squeezing me to death. Let go." Ivan loosened his hold and backed away to look at Prussia's face. The tears had ceased, but his eyes were half-closed; deep circles gathering beneath them. His exhausted expression along with the way his shoulders drooped told Ivan that Prussia was on the verge of collapse.

"Come, Gilbert, let's get you to bed. You will think more clearly in the morning." And, picking him up like a child once more, Ivan carried Prussia back across the house to their bedroom.


	6. Chapter 6

Crossing the threshold, Ivan was again forced to look at the blood red sheets that covered his bed; evidence of the atrocities he had performed in his rage. Prussia had his head resting on his shoulder, so Ivan could not see his face to gage his reaction to the sight of his own blood; Ivan again prayed that it had not been too scarring for him. Letting his feet down slowly, keeping an arm around his shoulders, Ivan helped Prussia into a standing position.

"I need to change the sheets. Wait here." Ivan then walked towards the bed, quickly – and just a smidge more forcefully than needed – he ripped the comforter and sheets from the mattress; balling them up, making sure to hide as much of the stains as he could. Turning back around to check on Prussia, he found that the spent country had slid down the doorway he had been leaning heavily on, and was now slummed on the floor, his head tucked into his chest. For the first time, Ivan noticed that Prussia still clung to the package, the envelope grasped tightly in one hand. With a sigh, Ivan went back to his work. Turning to his bedroom closet, where he kept the clean linens, he thrust the soiled bedclothes into the bottom corner of the closet; selecting a new set from the shelves above his head.

A few moments later, after the bed was remade and clean once more, Ivan turned to Prussia again. Kneeling down beside him, Ivan used his hand to pull some stray strands of hair out from over Prussia's closed eyes, parting the curtain of bangs to see his sleeping face better. Ivan loved the face Prussia made while sleeping. So innocent; lacking the angry and frustrated furrow in the brow that always accompanied it when awake. Ivan bent down to kiss Prussia's forehead, the drowsy country's eyes opening slightly at the touch. Half-asleep, Prussia wound his arms around Ivan, nuzzling his face into the hollow between his collarbone and neck. In his not-quite-awake-not-quite-asleep state, Prussia whispered to what Ivan thought must be a dream,

"Ivan….nnh" Prussia snuggled closer as he mumbled the syllables. Ivan's eyes widened as the sound of his true name pasted through his Gilbert's lips once again; Prussia had never once used his real name before tonight. The closest Ivan ever got to Prussia saying it was when he would watch him while he slept. Prussia was quite a chatterbox in his sleep, and if the dream – or nightmare – included Ivan, Prussia would mutter his name; but Ivan really did not count those times. And today….Prussia had said Ivan's name more times today than he had since coming to live here. It sent warmth running through an otherwise cold country as Ivan played back the memory of Prussia's voice as he had plead with him for mercy. _'"Bitte, Ivan…n-no more…I…I can't…Ivan, bi…bitte."'_ Ivan felt himself getting aroused again and shut down the memory completely. '_Shit. I can't be getting out of control again. Not tonight.'_ When Ivan got "in the mood", he sort of went savage. He always loses control and takes what he wants, no matter what the other person's opinions or objections are. He had to admit it was rather childish of him. Ivan also knew that if he could gain the ability to restrain himself, then his relationship with Prussia may be a little bit more…mutual, but when he got in that state, his brain shut down and other organs, more aggressive organs, did the thinking for him. But apparently he had not ruined everything completely; he must have done something right. Prussia was having doubts about leaving. Ivan could see it in his face when he had burst into those tears that had so confused him. Ivan figured, if Prussia did go back home, that at least he would have a few more weeks to be selfish and child-like in his possession of the country he had come to love so deeply; before they were parted forever, leaving Ivan in this empty mansion all alone. Pushing his bleak future from his train of thought, Ivan again focused on the young man sleeping in his lap.

"It's time for bed, Gilbert." It was not but a whisper, Ivan really did not expect Prussia to be able to hear him, and when he picked the lighter country up once more, all he got in response was a muffled groan. Noticing what was left on the floor; Ivan bent down again to pick up Prussia's gift and laid it on the desk beside his bed. Laying him down gently in the clean sheets, pulling the covers over him, Ivan tucked Prussia in for the night. _'He probably won't enjoy waking up next to me tomorrow, he's bound to be very, very sore in the morning; I better sleep in one of the other countries' beds tonight. It's not like anybody is using them anymore…' _That thought in mind, Ivan began stripping for bed, throwing the jacket, scarf, and pants over his desk chair beside the bed, now only in his undershirt and boxers, and made for the door. As he turned from the bed, however, a hand grabbed his wrist, gripping it with surprising force. Ivan turned as Prussia whispered,

"Where are you going? You always sleep in here."

"I didn't think you would want me here tonight." At this, Prussia's face reddened, an angry look attempting to hide his embarrassment.

"Of course I don't! I've just gotten used to someone being in the bed with me, that's all…" Ivan chuckled softly at the cute and curt words masking genuine emotion underneath. But then a mental image of Prussia's face twisted in agony, his wails echoing around the room, abruptly appeared in Ivan's brain, and his face fell again.

"…Are you sure, Gilbert? All those things I did…I wou-uh!" Prussia had, without warning, yanked at the arm he still held, sending Ivan crashing down beside him. Pulling the blankets to where they fell over the bed's new arrival as well, Prussia then laid down, closing his eyes and breathing heavily; as if the effort of the last few seconds had been too much for him. Ivan, giving in, wrapped his arms around Prussia as he always did, but this time met no resistance or protest at the embrace. Sighing sleepily, Prussia muttered before falling into unconsciousness once more,

"Goodnight, Ivan."

"Goodnight, Gilbert."


	7. Chapter 7

Ivan

"….ussia….Russia…Russia! Wake up, dipshit! I'm starving!" Ivan opened his eyes a fraction of an inch, waking slowly to the yells of the young man beside him.

"Hnnn? Wha…what?"

"Make me breakfast, dummkopt, I can barely move thanks to that overly aggressive, overly sized dick of yours, so it's your job today to make breakfast. Hurry up!" The first thing Ivan saw as his eyes adjusted to the morning sunlight filtering in through the window was the adorably angry face of his Gilbert. Reaching up to where Prussia's head was leaning over him, Ivan gripped a handful of hair and pulled Prussia in for a kiss. After a few moments of their mouths moving together, tongues dancing across lips, Prussia let out an angry groan and pulled away; his eyes betraying how much effort it took him to stop. '_Things seem to be back where they were….perhaps even better than before.'_ Ivan thanked whoever was up there granting his wishes, hoping that this ecstatic feeling in his chest would never go away. Prussia's harsh voice brought Ivan back down to earth.

"Breakfast. Now. Go." But Ivan had other plans. Tearing the covers off of both of them, Ivan sat up, leaning over Prussia. He positioned himself to where he sat between Prussia's legs, holding his knees apart. An alarmed expression spread over Prussia's features and he immediately began struggling weakly,

"Russia, you can't possibly be wanting to do that again?! For God's sake, I can barely move after yesterday! Nein! You can't do this!" But after punching Ivan's chest a few times, with ridiculously weak force, Prussia collapsed back down onto the bed, wincing at the sore muscles he had strained in his struggle. But instead of positioning himself to enter the terrified country, Ivan leaned over to where his mouth was brushing against the fabric of Prussia's boxers.

"Just relax, Gilbert. You don't need to do a thing." Ivan said in a deep, husky voice, making sure his warm breath blew over his target as he parted the slit in the underwear. Prussia's member sprang out, only slightly hardened, but as Ivan ran a single finger from the base to the tip, it came to stand at attention. Prussia's eyes were the size of saucers, his voice stuttering as Ivan began fondling him with both hands.

"Wh-What….What are y-you doing? Ah!" In response to his question, Ivan had suddenly and without warning taken the entire length into his mouth, making Prussia call out and throw his head back. Working his tongue over the sensitive flesh, Ivan looked up to see Prussia's face flush red, his eyes glazed and half-closed. Fingers clutched at his scalp after a few minutes; Prussia's hands pushed Ivan's head down forcibly in an attempt to get more of his sex into the other country's mouth. Ivan had been rolling Prussia's balls in one hand and instinctively reached for his entrance with the other; forgetting Prussia's injuries in the heat of the moment. Knowing that inserting a finger always added pleasure, Ivan pushed gently at the puckered hole.

"AAAH! RUSSIA! That hurts like HELL! I'm torn down there, remember?! STOP IT!" Ivan pulled out quickly, returning all of his attention back onto the penis he was stimulating; emptying his mouth of the organ long enough to mumble "my bad" before returning to his work. The objective for Ivan in this situation was to make Prussia feel good, not to reopen his wounds. Prussia quickly slipped back into the panting, thrusting fever he had been in before Ivan's mistake, and after a little while longer, he began moaning rather loudly. Ivan knew he was reaching the end and pulled out, running his tongue over the entire length as he did so. Knowing it was more torturously pleasurable to do it this way, he licked only the tip, inserting his tongue into the slit at the head.

"No, don't do that! Ah! Nnh….i'm…..i'm com….coming, Ivan…..Ivan…..Ivan…..IVAN NNNAAAAH!" Ivan quickly enveloped Prussia's sex once more as seamen poured from it, trying his best to swallow all of the bitter liquid so as not to get the new sheets all dirty. Ivan sat up, gulping down the last of Prussia's load, and stared smugly at his handiwork. Prussia lay on the bed, panting heavily, his face still showing signs of his climax as he came down from the high. His legs were still parted slightly on either side of Ivan, Prussia's hair a disheveled mess due to a combination of bedhead and the movements he had been making. One hand still clutched a pillow, the other coming up to wipe sweat from his forehead. Regaining some control of himself, Prussia sat up, staring at Ivan as if he had sprouted another head.

"What….was that? You've never done that before." Ivan smirked at Prussia, and answered his question with a question.

"What? Did you not like it?" Prussia's eyes widened and the blush on his cheeks deepened.

"Th-that's not it….I just…you were…..I mean, it was…..It was just surprising, that's all." Ivan chuckled and ruffled Prussia's already messy hair, getting up from the bed and turning to the door.

"You still demand breakfast, da? I'll be back."

"Wait." Ivan turned from the door to look at Prussia, waiting for him to say more. He noticed that Prussia's face looked as if he was struggling to find the words.

"…About your apology last night….I just wanna let you know that I will never be able to forgive – or forget – what you did to me when I first got here. Not to mention what you did yesterday" Ivan looked down at the floor, suddenly unable to meet Prussia's gaze. Maybe things were not as recovered as he had thought. "But" He said, seeming to notice Ivan's distress and rushing into the next sentence. "when I'm not in pain – and you're not being completely fucking irrational – I really…..don't….hate it here…." Ivan looked back up, feeling a smile pulling at his lips; Prussia instantly looked at the mattress beneath him when their eyes met. '_So cute…'_ But before he could reply, Prussia's stomach let loose an enormous growl, reminding Ivan of why he had gotten up. A sudden remembrance of the short time they had left made Ivan's mood plummet, and he said quietly before leaving,

"That's fine, Gilbert. It's not like you have much longer to have to deal with me, anyway." And then he was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

Gil

It felt surprisingly good not to fight everything anymore. Gil now knew that the constant struggle he had been waging up till now had just been a method of denying his own feelings. When he had first gotten here, he had fought out of hatred for Russia; his rapist. But Gil now realized that for the past few months he had been fighting instead to cover up how deep his own affection had become. Being able to relax into Russia's embrace last night instead of pushing against it sent Gil into a state of bliss. And what he had just done….Gil stared at the rumpled sheets between his thighs, clutching the material in his fists. He was still in shock. '_Russia just gave me a blow job!' _The more he looked back on the scene, Russia's light magenta eyes boring into him as his tongue danced over Gil; bringing him something he had never felt here, the pleasure of another's touch without some degree of pain along with it, the more Gil had to fight down another erection. He had to say, though, it had not felt the same. '_It was too…docile...Wait, what am I saying?! When did I become a masochist?' _opening up his feelings seemed to be teaching Gil of all the suppressed pleasure and fetishes that he had subconsciously locked away; not even being aware that he had them. _'This is too much…my brain hurts.'_ With a groan, Gil allowed himself to fall back, hitting the bed with a soft 'thud'. As Gil sorted out all of this new information, a question repeatedly popped into his head; a result of nearly everything he managed to sort out. '_O.K., now I suddenly have feelings for Russia. So what do I do about leaving? I have developed some odd domination/pain fetishes centralized around Russia. So what do I do about leaving? Russia is finally showing some amount of affection, or at least caring a little more about my well-being and happiness. So what do I do about leaving? Russia will be all alone once West takes me back home. SO WHAT DO I DO ABOUT LEAVING?!'_ Gil's headache worsened as the huge dilemma bounced around his brain and, very slowly, he came to his decision. '_I know what I have to do.'_ Just as he came to his conclusion, Russia reentered carrying a tray of delicious smelling food.

"I don't know how you fix these in your homeland, so I made them like I would a Russian sausage." And there on the plate was Gil's wurst, grilled to perfection and covered in a thick sauce. The Russian ingredients mingled with the nostalgic aroma of home; mixing past and present in its mouthwatering smell. The tray was placed in Gil's lap and, picking up the fork and spearing a piece, he savored the flavor. The Russian food he was used to now mixed with the German food he had been craving for so long sent Gil into an almost orgasmic bliss. Moaning, chewing slowly, he looked up at Russia and said,

"Mmm! Thish ish amafing! Fank oo." Russia chuckled and sat down on the edge of the bed as Gil struggled to talk with his mouth overflowing with food. Gil did not mind that he watched him intently as he ate; he had gotten used to Russia's strange habits and personality long ago. Everyone else felt uneasy and frightened when he stared like that, but Gil had found out that it was just his nature; he did not mean anything malicious by it. '_When his teeth show in his smile. That's when you need to be scared'_. Finishing the last of the meal, Gil sat the tray on the desk beside the now-empty box – he had no idea how Russia got the package's contents out of the room without him noticing – and turned to the country beside him, a serious expression on his face.

"About what you said before about me not having to deal with you for much longer. We need to talk about that." Russia's eyes became sad once more, and he mumbled,

"You would like to leave sooner?"

"Just shut up and let me talk, wouldja?" Gil paused to make sure he would not be interrupted again, and then continued,

"I've been thinking about this and have decided that I need to go home. I miss West and the place where I grew up. I want to go back." At this, Russia propped his elbows on his thighs, leaning forward to hold his head in his hands; depression etched into what was visible of his face.

"I understand." Gil was surprised by the level of reaction that had gleaned from the otherwise composed country.

"But," Russia looked up at Gil from between his fingers at the hope of some condition for him to stay. "I'll keep the cell phone you gave me. Call me anytime and, if I'm not too busy, I'll come over. You're not really that far away from West's house, so it shouldn't be but so difficult." When Russia had finally let Gil out of the basement that had been his prison in the first months of his stay here, he had given Gil a cell phone (one of the first). It was basically a leash Russia used to keep Gil close; he was told to answer it no matter what, and if the call was not answered it meant extra punishment when Russia finally found him. Gil of course ignored the first call, but that is another story entirely.

"…Really, Gilbert? You want to see me even when I'm not forcing you to be with me?" Gil looked down, feeling yet another blush on his face.

"…I've just gotten used to you being around, that's all…ah! Wha!" Russia's crushing embrace sent them both careening backwards onto the mattress, Gils lungs being constricted by the larger country as Russia landed on top of him. His face buried in Gil's neck, Russia whispered through his joyous sobs

"Thank you, Gilbert. Thank you so much." Gil looked down at the head of sandy blonde hair under his chin and placed his hand on Russia's head; ruffling the wispy strands.

"You're welcome, Ivan"


End file.
